Those Eyes That See
by fructoselollipop
Summary: Based off Talladga Nights. Ricky only closes his eyes when he kisses Jean. Slash. One fbomb.Feedback is like sex. Always satisfying when you get some, but its awkward when it sucks. I'm not partial to flames. Please keep them to a minimum.


He always told himself that he didn't close his eyes when he kissed Carley because she was so damn hot.

He always told himself that he didn't close his eyes when he kissed Susan because he liked watching her face.

But he could not explain away just how easily his eyes had fluttered closed when he kissed Jean Girard.

Ricky Bobby had grown up with the idea in his head that when you kissed someone you really cared about you closed your eyes. If you didn't then you came off as wanting the kiss to be over as soon as possible.

This strange notion of Ricky's was brought about by years of watching his mom try to date different men. At the the end of each date, the poor fool would walk this mama up to the porch and make his move. Ricky, who always watched from a window, never saw his mom so much as blink when they kissed her. Neither of them saw any of the men again.

Susan smiled from across the table, lifting her glass of wine to her lips and taking a long drink.

Ricky had to admit that she looked striking. Her pretty red hair was swept back in a graceful bun and she opted to forgo her glasses and instead wore contacts that added just the right amount of glimmer to her green eyes. Her dress was navy blue and sparkled so bright that you hardly noticed the color. It hugged her body in all the right places and was delightfully revealing yet still left some things to the imagination.

They were having a private celebration of Ricky's win earlier that day, that took place only two weeks after the events at Talladega. Susan had not once brought up the kiss her boyfriend had sprung on Jean Girard, which Ricky was extremely grateful for. He had enough trouble keeping his mind off the Frenchmen without the reminder that Ricky's tongue had been down his throat only a fortnight ago.

Because, of course, Jean had kept his word and quit his job at Dennit Racing. He didn't race today, just like he promised.

Ricky thought he would be thrilled to race again without that annoying green car in front of him. However, he discovered that he performed even worse without that constant on the track. He had managed to snatch the win with only a last second's concentration.

Suffice it to say he didn't much feel like celebrating.

The night ended, much to his relief, and he drove Susan home without delay. He hardly even noticed the way Susan's hand was trailing over his thigh suggestively. He didn't much feel like fucking either.

He walked Susan to her door, dreading the inevitable invitation that he most certainly wanted to turn down before she even asked it. And surely, here it came...

"You want to come upstairs for a bit?" Susan's eyes sparkled.

Ricky considered her a moment. she looked so beautiful, the moonlight reflecting off her shimmering form. She had done so much for him, even before they were together. It wasn't her fault that he was a hard man to get accustomed to. He opened his mouth to accept when an image of himself kissing Jean Girard flashed across him mind.

"Uh, Susan, I don't think I'm up for it," he stammered out, still reeling from the memory of Talladega. "It was a tough race today and I'm really tired." He smiled kindly at her. "You're too much for me to handle."

She nodded her understanding and stood on her tiptoes to receive her kiss.

Ricky bent slightly and gave it to her, but found, with a stab of annoyance, that he was staring at her nose. He just couldn't close his eyes.

After what seemed like an eternity Susan broke away and let herself inside, and Ricky was allowed to return to his car, running his fingers through his hair.

He didn't go home.

For a while he just drove on auto-pilot, thoughts chasing each other endlessly in his mind. Finally he realized that he had pulled into the parking lot of the race track, though hardly surprised he had ended up there. He made his way to the track itself and then waited there a moment, his breath just barely visible in the chill night air.

This was his sanctuary.

Then he turned and began walking, giving no thought to the time and the fact that he was still in his dinner things.

He didn't know how long he walked on the track. He didn't feel tired or sleepy, he only continued on, his head erect and his eyes sort of glazed over as he reflected.

After some time, Ricky became dimly aware that there was someone walking about ten feet behind him. He had heard a snatch of footsteps that were lighter than his own, and a new shadow had joined his stroll.

He shrugged to himself. If they wanted to walk, let them walk. They weren't bothering him. He attempted to sink back into his thoughts.

A few minutes later, however, it was apparent that he could not concentrate with someone following that closely behind him. He tossed an irritated glance over his shoulder to find out who was intruding on his solitude.

It was Jean.

Ricky stopped altogether and turned around, his eyes never leaving the Frenchman, who continued to approach him.

Jean's hands were thrust deep in the pockets of his dark blue jeans, a cigarette between his pursed lips, and a nonchalant expression gracing his features. He stopped a couple feet in front of Ricky, and took a last drag on his cigarette before flicking it away. The two stared each other down a moment, then he broke the silence. "You look nice."

The Southerner suddenly remembered that he was still in a three piece suit. He reddened lightly (thank God it was dark) and half wished he could tear off the suit and be wearing something casual underneath. "Cut the crap, Girard," he said a little more harshly than he intended. "What are you doing here?"

The other man's eyebrows lifted. "I might as you the same question. You see, I've been walking here every night for two weeks."

A frown came to Ricky's lips. "Ever since --"

Jean held up a hand to stop him. "Talladega," he finished, with a sigh. "Will you walk with me, Ricky?"

So they walked on for a while in silence, each one stealing glances at the other every so often, but neither of them noticing. When the quiet between them became uncomfortable, Jean broke it again.

"I've discovered that I miss racing more than I thought I would when I first arrived here."

Ricky shot a look at his companion, who continued to look straight ahead, his eyes slightly misted. He waited for the rest of the sentence, but when it did not come, he cleared his throat and replied, "So?"

A small chuckle emitted from Jean's lips. "You must have missed it while you were away? You can relate."

He would have liked to say that he didn't, but Ricky knew that wasn't true it all, though he didn't say so. "But what does this have to do with me?"

A pause. "Ricky, I made you a promise that once you defeated me I would retire and leave you to the bliss of never seeing me again." Jean looked into Ricky's eyes, a strange emotion playing across his face. "I'm asking you for permission to return."

Ricky stopped walking, his mind racing. He could have his constant again. At the same time, though, that meant inviting his losing streak back. But, whether he won or not, he would race better if he had Jean there to strive against. Without him there, racing was almost boring. Too easy. To buy himself thinking time, he asked, "Why don't you go back to Formula One?"

They came to a bench and Jean threw himself on it, delaying his reply with a hint of embarrassment. "Well, I realized that I miss racing so much because of YOU." He rushed on before Ricky could interrupt. "There is something exciting about you, Ricky Bobby. Something that those pansies over at Formula One could never possess." Ricky snorted and Jean smiled, continuing. "You are more than a challenge. You are a thrill. A rush. A pleasure that I have never known before." He stopped, very red in the face. It seemed that he had wanted to get that out for some time now.

The Southerner was still trying to process it all, when something occurred to him. "What about your husband? What does he think of you coming back?"

"Ah." A sad smile touched Jean's lips and he stood again, resuming their walk. "Gregory and I are getting a divorce. It seems he did not much like me kissing another man on national television."

Ricky frowned. "I'm sorry, Jean," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to break y'all up like that."

Jean shook his head. "It has been a long time coming. Our marriage wasn't born out of love, but rather spite for those who said we couldn't do it." He gazed over at Ricky. "I thank you for giving me a reason to end it."

The two of them came to the exit of the track that led back out to the parking lot. Ricky still had not answered Jean's request, but the Frenchman did not seem to want to press him about it.

"Well, Ricky Bobby," Jean said as they approached the exit. "I have thoroughly enjoyed your company this night. If you ever want to take another midnight stroll, you know where to find me." He began walking towards the parking lot.

"Jean, wait," Ricky called out.

The other man turned, an unreadable expression on his face.

Ricky's heart was pounding. "Do you mind if I try something?" And without waiting for an answer and most definitely without thought or reason, he closed the distance between them and kissed Jean with as much passion that had in him.

His eyes were closed.

He could feel Jean's surprise beneath his lips, just like that first time at Talladega. And, also like the first time, Jean's arms slipped around him and held him tight. Their lips started to hurt from being pressed so hard against one another until Jean parted his slightly.

Ricky's tongue took advantage of the opening and darted into the Frenchman's mouth, probing, caressing, exploring every crevice. He found his companion's tongue and roamed his own over it, sparks flying behind his eyes.

And that's when the pieces of reality came screaming back together.

Ricky stumbled back, panting slightly, his eyes flashing.

"Well then," Jean whispered.

"Honey, are you alright?" Susan's concerned eyes swam out of the fog of Ricky's thoughts.

The two of them were having breakfast at his house, and, as one would expect, Ricky was having a hard time focusing on anything but the memory of last night. He had closed his eyes. Kept them closed. He had slipped his tongue inside Jean's mouth. To top it all off, he couldn't tell himself truthfully that it felt... wrong.

"Sweetheart?"

Ricky trained his eyes on the woman in front of him. Maybe he was just in a funk. This was Susan. She cared about him and had sacrificed a lot for him. He loved her... he thought. When he opened his mouth to reply, he meant to say "I'm fine" but what came out instead was, "Susan, can you do me a favor and kiss me?"

Susan looked puzzled.

"Please just do it. Like you really, really mean it."

Still sporting the look of confusion, she scooted close to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed a tender but passionate kiss into his lips.

He tried. He really did. He forced his eyes closed and told himself that this was right, but no sooner than the thought drifted across his mind his eyes were open again, looking around the room impatiently.

And as she pulled away, Ricky came to terms with the fact that he couldn't close his eyes with her because he didn't love her. It was that simple. It had been the same with Carley and every other girlfriend he ever had. But there was one person who was different.

"Susan, I have to go."

This is crazy, Ricky thought to himself as he walked up the driveway to Jean's elaborate home. What am I supposed to say to him? Hi, Jean, I know you're going through a divorce right now but I thought I'd stop by and see if you're okay with me having feelings for you. Even in his head, the words sounded ridiculous.

He didn't have time to rehearse a proper speech however because before he realized it, he had come up to the porch and leaned on the doorbell. He could hear the dogs barking frantically.

After a few moments, Jean came to the door, holding one of the German Shepherds back by the collar and looking mildly surprised. He was still wearing his white silk pj's. "Good morning, Ricky. Come in!" He stepped back, ushering his guest inside.

Ricky cleared his throat awkwardly, casting a look at the dog. "Is, uh, Gregory still here?"

Jean let go of the dog, who immediately jumped up at Ricky, attempting to lick his face. He led the way into the kitchen and picked up the cup of coffee that he had apparently been enjoying before the doorbell rang. "Not at the moment," he said in response to Ricky's question. "He took some essentials and flew home for moral support." He rolled his eyes. "Just like him. Trying to milk the situation for what its worth. Anyway, he'll be back later this week to get the dogs and the rest of his things." He cocked an eyebrow at Ricky. "Why?"

The Southerner could not think of a response, so opted instead to throw himself at his host, pulling him into a deep kiss. But somehow, this one was different from the one at Talladega and even from last night. It was like a jolt of electricity running through each of their bodies, focusing on where their lips connected.

When they pulled back for air, Ricky leaned his forehead against Jean's. "I think I might be in love with you," he whispered with only a trace of embarrassment.

Jean's face broke into a wide smile and he stole a small kiss. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

They shared another passionate kiss, trying very hard to ignore the dog that was yapping around their feet.

This time when they broke apart, Jean was grinning. "Does this mean I get to race you again."

Ricky only laughed and took him in his arms. "Anything for you." He didn't care about anything else; he had his constant again. 


End file.
